Ordinary
by xSuchSweetNothingx
Summary: Jared notices Kim at a bad time. Not only did she just start dating another boy, but she's also planning on moving to New York in three weeks. Will these obstacles get in the way of their happily ever after? Jared/Kim. Imprint. Kim's not an outcast and Jared was never Mr. Popular.


**Ordinary**

_Chapter One_

* * *

Alex Bronson stands at the front of the classroom, presenting his project on tooth enamel, and I just keep thinking the same thing over, and over, and over again. His inability to take hold of the attention of the room is almost miraculous.

I mean, seriously. Most people hate presenting because of all the eyes that are looking at them as they do so. That's certainly not something that Alex needs to worry about any time soon. It's almost as if he doesn't understand the concept of: '_Get to the point quickly. And then shut the hell up.'_

I have no idea where his confidence comes from.

I raise my hand.

Alex is the one to call on me. "You have a question."

I hate him. I really do. "I would like to ask, _Mr. Mraz_," I say, pointedly looking at the health teacher, who also appears to be considering suicide at this point, "if I could _please _use the restroom."

I'm out of my seat before he even nods his consent.

I don't know how much longer I would have lasted much longer listening to him drone on and on about the –

* * *

- the left and the right. The hallway is completely empty, as I suppose I should have expected. I mean, it's only about a third of the way through third period.

I wonder if Alex is planning on using the entire period for his presentation.

_Maybe I should have asked to go to the nurse, instead . . . Or maybe I just shouldn't have come to school today._

Walking into the girl's room, I'm ambushed with the sound of giggling girls, which quite obviously belongs to the girls standing before the mirrors.

I pull my eyeliner out of my back pocket and start to reapply it.

"It just doesn't make any sense!" Myah Fraire exclaims, turning away from her reflection to stare at her friend. Her eyes widen as she continues, "A_verage _guys disappear from the face of the planet for a week or two, and then come back as _gods_: half a foot taller, fifty pounds of muscle heavier – they look like they're in their twenties!"

That certainly got my attention.

The school is so small that everybody knows everybody, and anybody who's anybody knows that it's not a common occurrence for people to just ditch school. And even if someone _does_ skip a day or two, by first period on their day back, everybody knows why they were gone.

I've been on the other end of this often enough to know that it's _really_ annoying. Seventh grade I was absent from school for two days with a stomach bug, and the day I came back someone overheard me telling a friend why I was gone. Everyone avoided me for the rest of the week, fearful of catching what I'd had, which really pissed me off.

I wouldn't have returned to school if I was still carrying the illness. Obviously.

The only people who are apparent exceptions to this rule are 'the elite' of the reservation. 'The elite' is a relatively new term, as up until my personal favorite member, Jared Cameron, disappeared for three weeks, and then returned looking _very_ different from his former self without an explanation, they hadn't existed. Shortly after his return, Paul Lahote took an extended leave, and then Embry Call followed him. It seemed as if things had calmed down for a few weeks, but then Jacob Black disappeared, too.

People had already been speculating about what was going on with them before Quil Ateara did the same exact thing, but _after _him, the rumors escalated.

If it was only their _looks _that had undergone the dramatic change, I don't think that the rumors would be as ridiculous as they are. Several people have accused them of joining some kind of cult, while others just pass off their appearances and strange behavior as a result of steroid abuse.

I can see _why_ people think that.

Each and every one of them did the same exact thing upon their return to school. They all dropped their old friends, instead choosing to spend their time with each other. They all look tired most of the time, despite their playful manner towards each other, and distant manner towards everyone else. People have learned that it's not smart to try and penetrate their close knit group, because they're extraordinarily easy to anger. And they all refused to supply an explanation for their absence and apparent physical transformations.

Despite all of that, though, I highly doubt that any of them have joined a cult or have started abusing steroids.

I mean, like Myah was saying, these were just _average_ guys. Most of them did relatively well in school. They'd all been friendly prior, except for Paul Lahote, who has always been temperamental.

Second grade he threw a fit, where he broke every crayon in the crayon bin, all because Miles Genetti took the last blue one, and Paul needed it to color in the lake he'd drawn. And he hasn't changed a bit since second grade.

Myah's voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I go back to eavesdropping. "- damn that boy is _fine_. What I wouldn't do for a night alone with _that_ hunk of man candy."

I cringe inwardly.

_Hunk of man candy_, really? That's the best that she can come up with?

"I know, right? All of them are _gorgeous_." Brenda Maie says, smacking her lips once - I imagine that she does this to fix her lipstick, but I don't turn to check and see if I'm correct - before continuing. "Personally, though, I'm more interested in Paul. I like my men _feisty_."

I have to bite my lips to stop myself from giggling along with them.

"What about you, Kim?" Myah includes me in their conversation.

"What? Who do I think is the hottest?" I ask, pretending that I hadn't just paid attention to their entire conversation. While I do know these girls, I don't consider them friends, so it really was very rude for me to listen in on them.

They both nod, looking at me with bright eyes, as if this is the most important piece of information that they'll have heard all day.

"Hm." I pretend that I have to think about it for a minute, looking up at the ceiling as if I had to search my brain for the answer. As if I haven't spent the majority of my life being _in love_ with the guy whose name I'm about to say. "Probably Jared Cameron, honestly."

"He would be my second choice," Brenda says approvingly.

"Yeah, he's definitely up there for me, too. I remember he was always really nice before. And smart, too," Myah adds.

"Well we'd better get back to class," Brenda says, shoving various beauty products into the front pocket of her bag.

"Yeah, I probably should, too," I admit. "Have a good day."

"Yeah, you, too. It was nice talking to you Kim!"

I don't follow them out the door, instead choosing to turn back and face the mirror again.

I look tired today. Unfortunately, my makeup did nothing to hide that fact. I probably should have just put in my ear buds last night and turned up my iPod instead of listening to my mom all night.

And instead of staying in the bathroom longer and increasing the chance of me getting a detention – as fifteen minutes out of class automatically counts as _skipping_ class – and ruining my spotless record.

I am _so _not ready to go back to listening to Alex –

* * *

- Alex _is _done presenting by the time that I finally make it back to class. _Thank god for that!_

I'm starting to get the feeling that today is going to be a good day.

On top of that, Mr. Mraz doesn't comment on my extended leave. And by extended, I mean that by the time I returned to the classroom, there were only seven minutes to go before I moved on to the next one.

By the time lunch rolls around I'm not as optimistic.

Since the end of third period, which was only two hours ago, I've managed to lose the twenty dollars that I was going to use to pay off my lunch debt as well as losing my eyeliner, though I might have just left that in the bathroom. I also found out that I failed the math test that I took last Thurday, although that admittedly hadn't come as a surprise.

I don't know how to math.

Well, that and the fact that I don't like studying. So I don't do it.

"_Hey_, look who it is!" The voice comes from behind me, and due to the draw on the word '_hey_', I know _exactly_ who it belongs to. "If it isn't the famous Kimmy Conweller."

I plaster a big smile on my face before I turn around. "Miles! It's so nice to see you again."

He pretends to blush and his friends laugh. Then he throws his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side. "What did you do last night, Kimmy? I mean, aside from missing me, of course."

I don't have to force the laugh the rips from my throat. "Not much, _Miley_. I spent most of the night writing about my undying love for you in my diary."

"Really, now?" His eyebrows rise. "What I would do to read that magnificent little book . . . the key to my greatest love's heart!"

I roll my eyes and playfully shove him away from me.

I don't really mind Miles. He's kind of pushy – and extremely flirty - but it's all good in nature.

"And how about you Miles?" I elbow his side lightly, "Aside from rubbing one out to my sixth grade yearbook picture –"

"Oh! Burn!" His friends exclaim, laughing boisterously, and effectively cutting me off.

The lunch lady gives me a dirty look from further up the line, which I know I earned with my filthy language. I mouth an apology to her.

"Damn, kitty. I love it when you scratch back," Miles says, feigning lust. "How about you let me take you out to make up for what I said?"

"I wasn't offended by anything you said."

He thinks for a moment. "If I _do_ say something really offensive, will you let me take you out to make up for it?"

"As much as I _love_ to be insulted . . ." I trail off, "I'll pass."

"Oh, come on, Kimmy. When are you going to give me a chance? We could be good together." Miles nudges me with his shoulder as I take a tray of food off of the lunch counter.

"Trust me, Miles," I say, looking up at him, "I'm not your type."

And I'm really not.

Miles doesn't go for girls who are otherwise involved.

And while I may not _actually be_ in a relationship with someone else, I don't consider myself available. I've only ever liked Jared, and I think I'm only _ever _going to like Jared.

"Oh, you are _most definitely _my type, Kimmy. More so than you probably realize."

I roll my eyes at him. "Fine then. You're not my type."

"Ouch," he cringes. "Seriously, though." He pulls me to a stop, and people start to go around us, ready to pay for their lunches. "Give me a chance, Kimmy. I would be good to you." He looks straight into my eyes, and this time I know that he is serious.

This is him asking me out, for real this time.

"Miles."

"Yes, Kimmy." His tone was hopeful.

Now I feel bad.

Not only for him, but myself as well.

I'm going to say no. Of that, I have no doubt. But it's really not fair to either of us that I am going to say no.

I know that nothing is ever going to happen between Jared and I – especially now that he is, in Myah's words, '_a god'_. Maybe before, when he was considered average (although he has never been just average to me), I would have had a chance. Maybe when we actually talked, like when he would ask me to partner up with him for English projects.

But like everyone else, I was cut out of his life when he came back after his two week absence. He hasn't even _looked_ at me in the four months that he's been back.

It's pathetic really – liking a guy that I can't even consider having a real relationship with. It's just so hard _not _to like him.

Miles's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Kimmy?"

I shake my head to clear it. "Yes?"

"Do you want to go out . . . with me?"

Oh.

Yeah.

"I'm busy tonight," I answer. It's partially true. Well, if you count a one-on-one date with your pantry and living room television as being _busy_. If you don't, then you're probably a normal human being.

At least that's better than me coming straight out and saying '_no_'.

"Well, we don't have to go out tonight. I was thinking more like tomorrow. Or Saturday, maybe."

He's going to make me say it.

"Uh . . . Miles," I have to look down now. I feel so horrible. I liked it better when we were just messing around.

I _hate_ disappointing people.

"Yes," he urges.

"Um." Think of something good. Think of something realistic. Think of something believable. "I'm not _allowed _to date."

His face clears of emotion. "Oh."

I'm not sure if he believes me.

I wouldn't. I couldn't even look at him when I said it.

"I mean . . . you don't have to _tell_ your parents we're going out, Kimmy." He is smiling again, "You're allowed to have friends that are guys, right?"

I have no choice but to nod. Nearly everyone in La Push knows that my mother wants me to have a plentiful amount of friends, as she often causes public scenes about my lack thereof.

I hate where this is going.

"Then just tell them we're hanging out. We can go to Seattle, to the mall, or to a movie. Or if you want to go bowling or golfing or something, we could do that instead. Whatever you want."

My stomach growls. I _need _to eat. I'm absolutely _starving_, and people are still cutting in front of us in the line.

This conversation has gone on for too long already. It's time to give him a final answer.

I look up at him, and only now realize that his friends have left.

_When did they go?_

That's not important.

"No, Miles," I say.

And then I'm confused.

He's smiling, and it's so big that I can literally see his molars. I don't know whether to think that it's cute that he can still put on a brave face after being rejected, or scary.

"Really?"

"Yes, really." Why the hell is he still smiling?

"So I'll pick you up around three on Saturday, then. Awesome!"

Wait. "What?" What the hell is _wrong _with him? No means no!

"For our date – have you already changed your mind?" His tone is teasing, clearly expecting me to say '_no_', to tell him that I'm just messing around with him again.

Did I . . . Fuck. I didn't say no . . . I said yes! And I can't take it back now that he's smiling like that! "Uh, no. Of course not. Okay. Saturday."

"Do you want me to get that for you?" He asks, gesturing towards my lunch tray. Then he nods to himself and takes the tray from my hands. "I'll get that for you –"

* * *

" – you have a _date_ with _Miles_?" Jenn asks for the third time in a row.

I roll my eyes. "That's what I said."

"And he paid for your lunch?" She asks and it's yet another question that she's asked twice already.

"Jenn, stop repeating the same things over and over again. Move on."

"It's just . . ." She trails off, rubbing her forehead as if she has a headache. She is so dramatic that it makes me question why I'm even _friends_ with the girl. ". . . I thought you liked 'Jared Cameron'."

"I do. And why did you just make quotations around his name?"

She ignores my question. "But you're going on a date with _Miles_?"

I throw my hands up in the air and stand up out of my seat in my frustration. "Jesus Christ, Jenn! We have _already_ _established that I _am_ going on a date with Miles! _Get _over _it!"

Unfortunately, it was at that moment that the entire cafeteria decided to go silent, and that means that (because there are so few students in the school that there is only one lunch period for every grade) . . . everybody knows that I'm going on a date with Miles.

Perfect. Just perfect.

A single look around the cafeteria tells me that I'm right, because _everyone's _eyes are on me right now. A second look tells me that Miles definitely heard me, and his friends, too, because he's smiling and waving, and his friends are chanting his name. As I'm turning back to face Jenn, my eyes cross his.

Not Miles'.

His. Jared _freaking _Cameron's.

And they stop me in my place.

This is the first time that he's looked at me in the five months that he's been back in school. This is the first time that he's looked at me since he became _way_ out of my league.

Considering the circumstances, though, and the way in which he's looking at me right now, it's really not as good as it could be.

His jaw is hanging open, and his eyes are as wide as I have ever seen them. He's clearly shocked.

Hopefully he's shocked more by my outburst than by the fact that I have a date.

Because that would be _really embarrassing –_

* * *

" – embarrassing!" Jenn laughs as we leave the lunch room. "You screamed it to –"

I cut her off, "I know what I did, Jenn. I am _thoroughly_ humiliated. I don't need your help with _that_."

She snorts obnoxiously, catching the stares of a group of people as we pass them in the hallway, and I decide right then that I'm not going to be talking to her much anymore. I'm _definitely not _going to be sitting with her at lunch anymore. I just can't trust myself not to be spastic when I'm around her.

"Did you see his face?" She bursts out laughing the second the words leave her mouth. She even stops in the middle of the hallway to bend over and clutch her stomach.

I shake my head in pity at how dramatic she is. She's not wrong, though. That really was . . . Something. "I know, right?" I say when she finally pulls herself together.

"He was thrilled!"

My brows rise. "_Really? _I thought he looked _stunned_."

"Wait," she stops again, and I start thinking about how I really wish she could just walk like a normal person. "Who are _you _talking about?"

That gets my attention, and now my brows are furrowed. "Who were _you _talking about?"

"No," she shakes her head, "you don't get to do that. You have to answer first."

"You brought it up."

"I assumed that we would both be thinking of the same person."

"Well you assumed wrong," I inform her, and we finally resume our walk. "So _you _need to tell _me_ who _you _were talking about."

She rolls her eyes, "Miles, of course."

"Oh." Yeah. We were definitely _not _talking about the same person right now. I'm not about to tell her that though.

"Well?" She urges. "Come on. Who were you talking about?"

Shit. "Myself."

"Oh. So now you speak in third person and refer to yourself as a '_he_'." She speaks doubtfully.

"Yes. Yes he does," is my brilliant response.

She snorts. It is _really_ unattractive when she does that. "Whatever, Kim. I know exactly who you were talking about – I just wanted to hear you say it."

That's another thing about Jenn. She talks a lot of shit –

* * *

"- shit that comes out of his mouth," Susan says, rolling her eyes as we take our seats in English. We always come early so that we can talk for a while before the teacher gets in. She's at least ten minutes late to class everyday _anyway_, but this way we get _extra _time. "I've got enough going on in my life as it is. I don't have time to waste!"

I chuckle, shaking my head. "It was really that bad?"

"If he just would have come to me and asked for my opinion or for an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on, I wouldn't have minded. But . . ."

"So . . . what are you saying? It was the way he went about getting your help?" I ask, trying to understand.

She looks at me with wide hazel eyes, "Let's just say . . . he has a rare gift that enables him to mangle the English language to the point of _utter _incomprehension."

That was a lot to take in all at once, but I get the gist. "Your brother _does _have a way with words . . ."

"I'll say," she huffs.

I laugh again. "Well, your night couldn't have been any worse than mine."

"Really?"

I nod.

Her face is solemn now. "Your mom?"

I feel tears prick in my eyes and wipe them quickly with my sleeve. "She caught him in bed with his side bitch." I've found that it's much easier to talk about things like this when it's spoken in a crass manner. Otherwise . . . It feels far too personal. "And she reacted like she always does, and I know that, in the end . . . She's going to take him right back. And then I won't see her anymore. It's the same sad fucking story every time."

I'm starting to get a headache, and I'm finally starting to feel just how raw my eyelids are.

I don't want to do this right now. I cried enough last night to last a normal person at least a decade. So why do I feel like the floodgates are about to open again?

"I'm so sorry, Kim." Her voice is disappointed, and I instantly know that it's not directed at me, but rather my mother. "That really sucks."

I nod my head. "I, um . . . I called my dad last night."

Her eyebrows lift so high that they nearly frame her eyebrows. "Did you tell him about what was going on with your mom?"

I nod again.

"And what did he say?"

I swallow before I answer her. "He told me that it wasn't healthy for me to stay in this situation."

"You already knew that, though. And so did he," she points out.

"And he also said . . . that he wants me to come and move in with him."

Even though I hadn't thought it possible, her eyebrows shoot up further. "Wait, like, into his place in _New York_?"

"That would be correct."

People are starting to file into the room now, so we're going to have to turn to less personal topics soon.

"And what did you say to that?" She leaning towards me now, anticipation evident in her features.

"I said that I would." I whisper the words.

"When?"

"At the end of the school year."

"Wow," she breathes, leaning back in her seat now as if my answer had deflated her. "That's only, like, three weeks or so."

"Yup."

Our conversation continues, but I feel so disconnected from reality that I'm not even entirely sure what we're talking about by the time Mrs. Gordan shows up.

I hadn't even noticed when Jared took his seat next to me.

Now that's a first.

Realizing now that my time with him – that is really time _without _him– is limited, I decide that I need to get in as much star-gazing in as possible. Because, more than likely, it's going to have to be enough to last me the rest of my life by the time summer rolls around.

I don't plan on returning.

I peek sideways at him, expecting him to be looking towards the front of the room at Mrs. Gordan, like he always does.

I most certainly didn't expect him to be staring right at me.

I think my heart stopped for a moment, at the mere fact that not only has he now broken the record of looking at me once in the past five _months_, but he's also looked at me twice in one _day_. But I don't need to worry about my heart for much longer because, once that thought is over, it's trying to leap towards him from its place in my chest.

And then I have to look away.

And then, because he's Jared, and because Jared _freaking _Cameron, who is _way_ out of my league, was just looking at Kimberly Conweller, honorary girl-next-door, I have no choice but to look at him again.

And he's still looking.

I muster up what little normality I have within me to lamely say, "Hi, um . . . Do you need something?"

He smiles. And it's so fucking beautiful that I feel like I need to look away, like I'm not even worthy of a smile this bright, this stunning. In the seventeen years that I've spent with my mother, I don't think she's ever smiled at me like this once, and here Jared sits, smiling at me as if I've _earned _it. When in reality, I haven't done a single thing _for_ him in the eleven years that I've known him.

His smooth voice pulls me from my deliberation. "Hey."

Thankfully, I'm not so far gone to realize that I had asked him a question. I shake my head slightly to clear it of my adoration, and decide that I'm going to try to treat him the way I always have. Which means that I have to hide my attraction, and act as if I were a distant friend – the kind of friend that you talk to in school, but don't call or text afterwards. An acquaintance.

"_Did _you need something, Jared?" I ask, running my hand through my hair to pull it out of my face. I try _really hard _to ignore the way his eyes brighten when I say his name, and the fact that he clearly isn't hearing a word that I say. And then I remember that he would often ask me if he could borrow a pencil. "Do you need a pencil?"

He is nodding his head before I even finish the question. "Oh, uh, yeah. That would be great, if you don't mind, that is."

I shrug, murmuring, "not at all," before I reach into the front pocket of my school bag and take out a pencil.

I don't notice that he's clenching a pencil in his left hand until I'm already holding one out for him. I pull it back a bit just as he starts to reach for it. Still eyeing his left hand, I say, "Are you _sure_?"

He furrows his eyebrows, sincerely confused. "Am I sure about what?"

"That you need a pencil."

Now his eyebrows are high on his forehead, and I have to stop myself from laughing when he responds. "Yeah, of course. Why; do you need it?"

And then I do laugh, and that smile plays on his lips again. "Oh, no reason." I hand him the pencil, forcing myself not to react to the jolt I feel when surprisingly warm fingertip brush against my palm as he takes it.

It's only when he looks back down that he figures out what I'd been talking about. "Oh."

Now we're both laughing.

"Mr. Cameron, Ms. Conweller, is there something that you would like to share with the class?" Mrs. Gordan asks with raised eyebrows and a scowl.

I look down at my desk quickly, my cheeks flushing red.

"Sorry, Mrs. Gordan," Jared says. "That was my fault."

When I look over at him, he's already gazing at me, and I get the feeling that he never stopped.

"Well, you'll do well to remember that I do not tolerate riff-raff in my classroom –"

* * *

- classroom empties quickly after the bell rings, signaling the end of the period. There's only one more period until the day is over.

I stop at my locker on the way to '_Economics' _to get my textbook. Once it's open, though, a piece of paper flutters down to the ground.

I sigh and then lean down to pick it up.

And then I'm confused. _I swear it was just there . . ._

"I got it for you." I'd know that voice anywhere.

Heat floods my cheeks, and I smile so wide that my face starts to hurt. Looking up only confirms it.

Jared is standing with me. At my locker. Holding –

_Shit fuck. _

_Fuck damn._

_Damn ass._

That's a _damn ass fucking shit bitch _sketch of _him!_

Now my cheeks are burning. I think I need to ice my face.

Maybe he hasn't noticed it yet. He hasn't said anything.

I look up at him hopefully, and just as I do, he looks down at the paper in his hands.

"_Kim_," he says, although it comes out kind of strangled.

_Ass damn._

_Damn fuck._

_Fuck shit._

I hate myself. I hate _hate _HATE myself.

I want to _die_ in this moment. _Anything _to get out of this.

"Kim," he says again, clearer this time.

_Be cool._ "Me Kim – fuck – oh shit! Sorry!" I literally face plant into my cupped hands in an attempt to escape the reality of what I just said.

"This is _really_ god. Did you make this right out of your head?"

_What?_

I must have spoken my thoughts out loud, because he answers my question. "Like, you didn't trace it or anything. You made it all on your own?"

He doesn't realize that it's him. How could he not realize that it's a picture of _him_? I mean, sure, I drew it when he was his former self, so the boy leaning back in the chair is thinner and shorter than he is now, but the face is distinctly his own.

I look up into his eyes, and instantly wish I hadn't. I hadn't realized how _close_ to me he was. His scent is taking over my senses, filling me with warmth. He smells _warm_, like firewood. And he _is _warm, too – it radiates off of him. It makes it feel like he's touching me.

And thinking about him touching me makes me want to touch _him_.

And that would be _wildly _inappropriate. Especially when one takes into account the fact that I have a _date_ with Miles on Saturday.

Thinking of Miles makes it easier to take a step back from Jared, from the whole situation. If anyone were to see this interaction as an_ intimate_ one – my blush probably makes it look that way – it will eventually get back to Miles, and he'll be hurt.

I'm not that girl.

Besides, Jared was probably just trying to be nice. There's no reason for me to be reacting this way.

I clear my throat. "Um, yeah, thanks. I'll just . . ." I tried to pull it from his hands, but he didn't let go. Then I smelled him again and I knew that I had to get away from him quick before I did something stupid. "You know what, you can keep it," I call as I practically run away from –

* * *

"- from someone who knows, Kim," Kendra says with a pointed look.

I try to make it seem like I hadn't just ignored everything she said. Nodding my head, I say, "thanks for looking out."

I can't bring myself to care enough when she gives me a look that tells me that she knows that everything she said went right over my head. Not because I don't like her, because she's actually one of my closest friends, but because I'm too distracted by what's taking place outside of my classroom door.

Both Miles and Jared have study hall in the cafeteria as their final class of the day. I know this because I often stop in there to get food from the vending machine during Economics.

Just another perk of being the teacher's favorite student.

That's not my problem right now, though._ My problem_ is that about two minutes ago, Miles showed up in front of the glass door, waving his arms around to get my attention.

This resulted in him getting the attention of the entire class, which resulted in the teacher opening the door to scold him. And when she did, he yelled, "you want a ride home," to which I nodded my consent. Then he was yelled at again.

Thankfully, she slammed the door in his face before he could make even more of a fool out of himself.

That's not the worst part, though. The _worst _part, my real problem, is that shortly after the teacher was able to get the class settled down, Jared walked up to the door to wave at me, with what I assumed was the sketch I told him to keep in his other hand. This stirred the class up again.

And it also got Miles' attention.

_That's _my problem. Because right after I waved back to him, Miles stepped forward with a frown and started talking to him.

That was two minutes ago.

And neither of them looks happy right now – in fact they're glaring at each other from opposite sides of the classroom door.

Even worse than that, the bell is going to ring any second now, and I _know _that this is going to be an uncomfortable conversation. Maybe if Jared _wasn't _holding a picture of himself, (and even though _he _doesn't realize that it's him, I'm certain that anyone else would) that I was stupid enough to sign my freaking _name_ on, this wouldn't be such an issue.

The whole school is aware of my newfound romantic relationship with Miles since my outburst at lunch. And it's obvious that Miles is really looking forward to our date Saturday. So this is just a horrible time for my 'Jared Cameron' obsession to be revealed. Miles will think that I'm just playing him, and I'm not.

Looking at the clock, I realize that I have nineteen seconds to come up with an explanation that is certainly going to be demanded.

Eighteen . . .

'_It's not him.'_

Seventeen . . .

There is no doubt that it's a sketch of Jared.

Sixteen . . .

'_It's not mine.'_

Fifteen . . .

My. Fucking. Signature.

Fourteen . . .

'_There was nothing else to draw.'_

Thirteen . . .

Flowers. Shoes. Celebrities. _Miles_! There are plenty of things that I could have drawn instead of Jared.

Twelve . . .

'_It was for someone else.' _Not even a second passes before I realize that I'm not going to be able to say that with a straight face. That's a bold-faced lie.

Ugh.

My life sucks.

The bell rings, and I stay seated while everyone else rushes out of the classroom. Kendra waves goodbye on her way out. I plaster a smile on my face after a deep breath, and throw my bag on my shoulder.

This is just _fabulous_. I try to pump myself up for what I'm about to face, whispering, "Tough up, Kim, you can do this. It's not that –"

* * *

"- _that_?" Miles asks, pointing towards the paper that Jared is clutching in his hands. He definitely isn't _happy_, but he's not as angry or suspicious as I'd thought he'd be.

I shrug, deciding that honesty is the best course of action. "It's a picture that I drew a while ago. It fell out of my locker earlier and I was running late for class," _a white lie here and there doesn't hurt, there's no reason to delve into the gory details_, "so I told Jared he could keep it."

"Oh . . . so it's not an expression of your undying love or anything?" Miles asks teasingly, and I'm immediately relieved.

"No. Not at all," I laugh, shaking my head. When I turn to give Jared a friendly/apologetic smile he's looking at the ground, and I can tell that I've hurt _him_. I can't win. I start to backtrack over my words, "I mean, not that you aren't _deserving _of my undying love or anything." That sounds creepy as fuck. "That's not how I meant for that to come out. But I really hadn't meant to insult you, Jared."

He looks up from the ground, and even though his eyes are still sad, he's smiling. He chuckles, and the only reason I know it's forced is because he used to laugh all the time. It was one of the things that I loved most about him. "No, I'm fine. Just tired," he murmurs, and I hope he's not lying.

Because, for one, while my love for Jared probably – realistically - isn't 'undying', I'm certainly interested in him, and I just implied that I've never had romantic feelings towards him. And two, I really do hate hurting people, especially those that I care about. And according to the aforementioned romantic feelings, I really do care about him. "Oh," I say, "Okay."

We stand awkwardly in the hallway for a moment, and a group of people down the hall get my attention. It's 'the elite', and they're all looking between Jared and I. I turn back to Jared, just realizing that he probably waited for me to leave class to ask me a question or something. "Was there something that you needed?" I ask him.

His face is surprised for a moment, and then he says, "oh, yeah! I was going to ask you if you wanted a ride home today."

I don't think that I've _ever_ been more aware of Miles' presence than in that moment.

"That won't be necessary," Miles says, and it doesn't escape my attention that his hand comes down possessively on my side, pulling me into him. "I'll be taking her home today. And indefinitely thereafter."

I glare up at him, and it bothers me that I can't chose between whether I'm mad that he's being rude, or that he probably just ruined my first and last chance of being alone with Jared Cameron. The second makes me feel like a bad person, so I decide that it's only fair that I allow him this rude and annoyingly possessive comment.

I'm about to thank Jared for the offer but his face halts my lips.

I hate to be cliché but . . . if looks could _annihilate_.

"I don't believe that I was asking _you_, Genetti," he snarls, and though I'm sure he'll never admit to it, I know that Miles is scared in that moment from the slight jump of his body.

Honestly, I'm a little scared, too. And turned on.

There is something _seriously _wrong with me. I'm drooling over Jared while I'm standing next to Miles, literally in his arms, when I should be trying to smooth out the situation. And I should probably reassure Miles of our relationship (regardless of how new it is), too.

First thing is first, though.

I step away from Miles to stand directly in between them. "Jared."

His expression softens when his eyes reach mine.

"I think it's time for you to leave."

Several emotions cross his face in the following seconds. Rejection. Sadness. Desperation. Anger. Humiliation. Jealousy. And then finally, remorse. "Um, yeah. See you tomorrow?" He asks.

I nod once before turning back to Miles. I motion towards the door that leads to the parking lot –

* * *

- lot is jam packed, and it reminds me why I never pushed my mother to allow me to get my license. When the school was originally built on this lot, it was made to accommodate a total of fifty people. And that's including teachers.

Now that the student population has doubled, which led to an increase in teachers, the parking lot isn't even big enough to fit half of the people that come to this school every day. The majority of drivers end up parking in the library's lot across the street.

"How early did you have to get to school to get this spot?" I ask Miles as we reach his truck.

It makes him smile, "_Early_."

"Sounds horrible."

He laughs but I know that he's still upset about what went down in the hallway because he hops right in his car and closes the door. He starts the car.

I don't get in the vehicle.

He turns towards the passenger seat and his eyebrow furrow when it's empty. He hits the 'unlock' button, assuming that I was unable to open the door. When I still don't move, he reaches across and pushes the door open for me. "Are you coming?"

"Am I still welcome?"

"_Please _let me drive you home."

His tone pleads even more than his words, and I find myself sitting before I even tell my legs to move –

* * *

"- move your arm over," I whine loudly, as annoying as I can make it sound, trying to shove his elbow off of the small armrest so that I can get mine on it. I don't really care if my arm is on there or not. The silence is just _deafening_.

I expect him to come back with a witty response – something most likely mildly insulting. He doesn't. He doesn't even look at me. He just slides his arm off of the rest.

"Miles . . . Are you mad at me?"

That opens him up.

"Do you have _any idea _how _long _I've liked you, Kim? Any idea at all?"

I shrug. "I guess not."

He chuckles to himself, not amusedly. "Kim, I've been trying to get you to agree to go on a date with me since _ninth grade_."

"Three _years_?"

"How could you not know?" When he finally looks at me, disappointment is etched in his features. "I have asked you out a _countless_ amount of times."

"I always thought you were _joking_." Miles has always flirted with me, but then again he flirts with a lot of girls. And most times it just seems like he's messing around.

"Well, I wasn't. I _really _like you Kim. And today, when you said yes . . . my hopes for us skyrocketed. But I _saw _the way that you were looking at him in there."

"Who – _Jared_?" I'm only half acting stupid. _No one _has _ever _commented on my crush, so I'd assumed that nobody knew. But if Miles could tell by just the look on my face . . .

"Don't worry, Kim," he scowls, "only someone who's yearned for that kind of look would know. You don't look at me like that. But someday . . . You might. That why I need you to be honest with me, Kim." We pull up to a red light and he sets his eyes on me to observe my features. "If you're not into _this,_" he says, gesturing between the two of us, "then you need to tell me. Because I don't want to waste my time chasing you anymore if I don't have a chance of catching you in the end."

I swallow.

"So can you give me a real shot at us?" He asks.

Today is the first day in months that Jared has looked at me, let alone talked to me. There's no reason for me to hold myself back from something that has potential to be good for the sake of a barely-there hope for something with someone else.

I nod my head, and as I do, I'm proud of myself. Because I'm not lying – I _can _give Miles and I a shot. He's always been friendly with me, and I do genuinely enjoy his company. Why not? "Absolutely. There's nothing between Jared and I, Miles. I promise," I hold one of his hands in my own before I continue, "I _swear _I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not the type to play games."

He smiles then, and from there our conversation lightens, and by the time we pull into my driveway we're laughing so hard we can barely breathe. And when I wave to him as he's walking back to his car from my front door, I see how _much_ potential there is for us. Because I do like Miles.

And that night, after I've made myself dinner, after I've called my mother ten times, after I've talked to my cat about how mad I am at her for abandoning me yet again, it's not thoughts of Jared that pull me from my depression.

It's Miles.

* * *

_**A/N: **I know that starting a new story when I have four others pending probably isn't the smartest thing, but I haven't been able to get this idea out of my head. I _had _to get it out here._

_I promise that this is different from any other Jared/Kim imprint stories out there. :)_

_Oh, and these chapters are going to run much longer than most of my other stories, so hopefully you guys like that!_

_Leave me your thoughts!_

* * *

**_~ Harlow ~_**


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